Stormreaver
by Daka1141
Summary: Follow Gorrashe Stormreaver, a coward orc shaman who's practically deaf to the spirit, ans his friends as they travel through Azeroth under the wake of the Cataclysm. Might be epic, but no promises.
1. Chapter 1: Last Toast

The beats of war drums raged across The Headlands as the Orcish Horde readied themselves for their first battle on the soil of Gilneas, salvaging Lady Sylvanas' disastrous attempt to take the country. Peons were working in frenzy to prepare the siege engines while grunts falling in to ranks and platoons, wolf riders racing towards the army's flank. Even the cooks were in high spirit.

During the excitement, a lone grunt standing guard in front of the supply tents noticed an orc making his way toward his direction.

"What are you doing here?" the guard hollered at the straggler," Get back to your platoons."

The orc took noticed and halted right in front of him.

"I'm here for the third's platoon keg, you know, for the last toast before battle."

"I wasn't told about any last toast" the guard puzzled.

"Well, you're not important enough to be informed then," The orc stooped down and look him in the eyes. "Seeing as you'll be standing around here doing nothing while we risk out life and limb out there."

The grunt was now taking in the full size of the straggler. He was a hulking giant, even for orcs standard, standing one head taller than him with thick muscle cladded in chain mail.

"W-w-well, I'll have to check in with your commanding officer for this." Grunts started to feel a bit intimidated by the other guy's sheer size.

"Look, buddy," the orc said, tightening his hands into fists. "I'm sure that you don't want to waste anybody time and you're just doing your job, but my captain might not be so forgiving or the 50 orcs who are about to miss what might be their last drink because someone is being a dick."

The orc's jaw was clenching now, his muscle all tensed up and his brown eyes were staring intensely as if he was about to explode from the rage building up inside of him. The grunt swallowed hard, feeling a chill running up his spine as the prospect of being beaten to a pulp ran through his mind.

"Alright, beer kegs are kept in the third tent to the right."

"Good, was that so hard?" the orc said as he walked toward the tents, shoving the lowly grunt aside with his shoulder.

The grunt let out a breath of relief and went back to his post. Then he let out another sigh as he realized that there will be more warriors looking down on him when they pass by for their platoon's refreshment. He gathered that it's going to a long time before the battle starts.

After standing at his post for almost an hour, the grunt noticed that no one else has come for more kegs. Just when he started to feel a bit suspicious, another orc showed up, wearing plated armor and carrying a large 2-handed axe although not as big as the last guy.

"Here for the keg? Third tent to the right." He said, jerking his thumb toward the beer storage.

The orc looked bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"You know, the last toast? Before battle?" He raised an eyebrow.

"What last toast?" The orc sounded angry now. "I'm here form my subordinate, tall strong looking orc wearing chain mail."

"Yeah, he was here about an hour ago for your men's last toast before battle."

"And you let him through, JUST BEFORE BATTLE?" the office eyes were bloodshot red now.

"W-w-well, do-d-don't you want your men's last toast? Or he didn't bring it?" the grunt was quivering now.

"THERE IS NO LAST TOAST!" the officer was howling at the sky now. "GORRASHE!"

At the foot of the mountain range, away from where the clash of the two armies, Horde and Alliance, Gorrashe put down the beer kegs he had recently acquired after finding a suitable place to settle his large form. He pulled out his trusty old tankard and pop the keg's hatch. He took a sip, tasting the bitter sweet flavour of the fine refreshment.

"Nothing like a drink to go along with senseless murders and deaths" he muttered then downed the whole tankard. "Victory or death." He chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2: Worgen rider

I own nothing and stuffs will be made up. PLEASE DON"T SUE.

The cries of thousands of soldiers jumbled together with the sounds of clashing metals, the stomping of the enraged Ancients and explosive boulders hurled into the ranks of both orcs and elves. It was a brutal cacophony of war upon the Gilneas Highlands, growing ever fiercer as both sides refused to give grounds.

As the intensity rose, so was Gorrashe's level of intoxication. He had already emptied a third of the beers keg and now reaching for a refill. Of course, the task was considerably more difficult compare to when he was sober. After a while battling with an impaired perception of depth, he decided to laid back on his broad back and have a break, enjoying the mindless carnage before him, not that he could see anything clearly now.

"What a bunch of idiots." He muttered while rolling his eyes for anything that he can focus his vision on.

"What particular occasion to have a binge, chap," said a posh yet deeply hoarse voice in common.

Gorrashe turned his head to face speaker or the man's general direction, eyes squinting to get some focus for some clear vision. Standing a few meters away from him was a large black worg, he gathered, but it was standing on its hind legs and wearing what seemed to be chain mail?

"A spirit?" said Gorrashe, raising an eyebrow, and then grinning like a drunk he was, "I've never thought that my spirit communing would get anywhere beyond basic."

He pushed himself up then stumbled toward the creature, arms wide open like he was greeting his drinking buddy, "So what's the message, o' great ancestor."

"I am not your great granny," the worg said, walking toward the drunken orc, "but I do have a message for you, my drunken savage."

Gorrashe slowed down as he noticed the thing was hold something metallic in its hands, "And what is it?"

"Piss off, wanker!" It was a sword.

Intoxicated as he was, Gorrrashe's senses were still coherent enough to make him rolls sideway to avoid the deadly swing. His brain was rolling in his skull, and the world was spinning in front of his eyes. "_Oh man, one too many drink", _he thought to himself. By the time the orc got back to his feet, another sword swing was coming, dangerously close this time. The blade tip tore out a huge portion of the metal ring on his chest, but nothing more as Gorrashe had managed to back step soon enough, despite the disorientation. He backed away rapidly to create some space between him and the worgen and then drew out his axe and war hammer on each hand.

There was a grin on the beast face as he raised his word and steadied himself for the eventual clash. Gorrashe tightened his grips then let out a deafening roar. The worgen flinched for a split second, and then tensed up only to be stunned again as Gorrashe charged…..in the opposite direction. He cleared away the momentarily confusion and gave chase.

"Fight like a man, you coward!"

"Not gonna happen!" Gorrashe yelled back; while surprisingly keeping well ahead of the frustrated creature.

"Where is your bloody Honor?!"

"IT'S HIGHLY OVERRATED!"

The pair went on for a while until the wolf frustration peeked, he sheathed the great sword on his back, readying for spring on four; he wasn't going to let some random orc outrun him. Just as his claws touched the ground, Gorrashe suddenly skittered to a halt and ran back toward him. He felt both rage and glee blooming in his chest.

"FEELING BR-"

Before the worgen could finish his remark, a boulder came crashing down next to them. It exploded, sending the gorrashe flying into the worgen. Just as the pair got back their feet, more boulders was soaring toward them.

"Sir, you sure this a flanking attempt from them?" the grunt asked, "I see only two figures, and one doesn't seem like a worgen."

"Hmm….alright, but at least keep engine 14, 17, 32 firing on that position. Can't have them potentially flanking us later on." The orc officer answer.

"Yes, Sir!"

Another deafening explosion came and both Gorrashe and the worgen were tasting dirt again. How they were still alive under the volley was a miracle in itself. The worgen pushed his face off the ground.

"This is bol-WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He yelled as Gorrashe had already positioned himself on his back like he was riding a mount.

Before he could have thrown the orc off, another boulder exploded nearby showering them will dirt and pebble. This combine with a sudden kick on the side compelled the worgen to play along and dash through away, carrying Gorrashe with him. That day, both the Horde and alliance witnessed one of the strangest and most impressive sights ever: an orcish raider riding a worgen through the battlefield while singing what seemed to be a plethora of made up songs. Most of them were stunned by the sight and let the pair ran straight through then resumed fighting their adversary. However, occasionally a few combatants would try to stopped only to failed as the worgen was too nimble to catch.

As for "mount", he would be extremely delightful to have the bastard literally off his back, but his grip on his mane was too tight. Furthermore, throwing him off now and joining the fray with others would let him be identifying more easily later on. The shame of literally being some one's mount would be mortifying. Thus, he had to settle with darting across the battle filed trying to find a uncrowded spot to unload his unwanted passenger.

They skittered to a halt near the Highlands' cliff, causing Gorrashe to fly forward and face plant on the ground. He got up, slapped away some of the dirt and turned to his "mount". He gave a big smile showing all his teeth, clear still drunk.

"That was a bad ride for a spirit wol-UGHEEORHD" he started vomiting profusely.

The worgen looked at him with disgust. This coupled with the embarrassment he was put through caused the rage and bloodlust to vanish. The evacuation horn sounded in the distance, the worgen gritted his teeth then walked away to the village.

"Hey where are you going?" Before he could manage to say anything, Gorrashe vomited again then passed out.

The cold bucket of water jolted Gorrashe back to consciousness only for him to be greeted by the splitting headache. Hangover had never been fun. He was sitting on a chair in what seemed to be an orc command tent.

"This is the last straw, Gorrashe," said the plate wearing orch in front of him. He was rubbing his nose bridge like the hangover was contagious.

Gorrashe gave the man a stoner's smile.

"Hey commander Bruk, how goes the battle?"


End file.
